The End
by Morien Alexander
Summary: Abe knew it was the end because it couldn't possibly be the beginning. AbeMiha
1. The End

**Title: **The End**  
Prompts**: #3 Ends  
**Rating: **PG  
**Pairings:** AbeMiha (+ Abe's imagination)  
**Warning: **Some allusions to sexuality  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own Oofuri, because if I did, baseball would become a metaphor for sex.  
**Notes: **Previously posted at the Oofuri LJ community, but edited since you to all the kind people who commented on this there!!!

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**Chapter 1: The End  
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This was the end.

Abe knew it was the end because it couldn't possibly be the beginning.

He was not a naturally imaginative person. He took things as they came and didn't think about the 'ifs' and the 'maybes' of the world around him. Of course, this didn't stop him from the occasional indulgence of a Koushien daydream. But usually Abe was more interested in doodling lines and numbers relating to team averages than in fantastical thoughts.

He saw flaws in the team. Of course they were inexperienced. Everyone needed more time and more practice. Mizutani needed to pay attention. Tajima needed to get serious. These were were negligible, though, and they could be fixed through meditation and exercises. Shiga-sensei and Momokan knew how to smooth out the little wrinkles in their team.

Basically, they—_he_ had one big problem: Mihashi.

In Abe's opinion, Mihashi was their greatest strength and their greatest weakness at the same time. He pitched perfections, but his interactions even within Nishiura were weak-willed and self-conscious.

Confidence. That was the key word. He agonized over it. Seeing someone walking toward him would trigger an interest in how they walked rather than who they were. Some had open, easy strides. Others walked to show off. Some shuffled across the floor and a few, like Mihashi, scurried like rabbits.

Confidence. What did it mean? Where did it come from?

If Abe had been asked before he met Mihashi, he would have said that confidence was something that you just _had_. If Mihashi was a reasonable person, Abe would be able to tell him, "You're a good pitcher. Have confidence in yourself," and it would all be fine. He'd tried that, though, and it didn't seem to work. Now he thought that maybe confidence was something you made for yourself.

It was pure accident that he was in the classroom that day, waiting for the end of lunch period. His head was on his desk, and he was thinking about confidence.

That was when he heard the magic word.

"…. so confident!" a girl behind him was saying.

"It's because she has a boyfriend," said another girl. "Having a cute guy always makes you feel sure of yourself!"

Abe's latent imagination was activated in an instant. Before he could even process the thought, an image of Mihashi clinging to the arm of a tall guy (who had a depressing resemblance to Mihoshi's pitcher) came to mind. He felt a blush irrationally spread over his cheeks, and he instantly changed the picture to the relaxing thought of a faceless runner on third.

It was a stupid idea. People didn't gain confidence because of a boyfriend or a girlfriend.

Besides, Abe was against love. Love distracted people from baseball.

But somehow, it was appealing. Anything to help Mihashi trust himself was appealing.

As soon as Hanai entered the room, looking disgruntled and carrying a mouthful of complaints about Tajima, Abe forgot all about Mihashi dating someone. He filled his mind with numbers and literature and foreign languages. After school, the team met, and when he looked at Mihashi, he felt like he was forgetting something. All too soon, shadows dragged across the sky and Nishiura's baseball team broke in sweaty bliss to go to their homes. Something lay at the back of Abe's mind, evading clear thought.

It wasn't until that night that he remembered.

He was just about to fall asleep when the picture of Mihashi holding that pitcher's arm came to mind again. Mihashi looked… _confident_. He was wearing a summer dress, and his hips were cocked jauntily to the side. Mihashi laughed, and the boy on his arm changed from the Mihoshi pitcher into Haruna.

Mihashi stood next to Haruna on the pitcher's mound, and they both pitched balls that curved simultaneously, Mihashi's popping up just before it reached Abe. His legs were bare and white against the red diamond dirt.

Abe thought, _this is stupid_. So Mihashi's dress changed into a baseball uniform. But he was holding Haruna's hand. And grinning. The scoreboard behind them showed a perfect game.

This was wrong. Why wouldn't Mihashi have a girl clinging to him? So there was Mihashi with Shinooka leaning on him. Only that was silly. The thought made him angry, although he didn't know why.

Then Mihashi's face was close to Tajima's. Their noses touched, fingers wove together, eyes drifting shut.

Abe sat up and stared at the shadowy form of his desk. This had to stop now. No more thinking about Mihashi with anyone.

Love ruined baseball. That was that.

When Abe finally fell asleep, he dreamed of Mihashi's thin arms under his hands as he shook sense into his pitcher. Mihashi's eyes were watering, like always, and then his face snapped up and Abe leaned in. Mihashi's breath was hot as sunlight on his skin.

The kiss felt like nothing. A heartbeat under his lips.

He woke feeling betrayed.

This was the end.

Because it couldn't _possibly_ be the beginning.


	2. The Middle

**Prompt:** #2 Middles

**Notes:** I don't know anything about Japanese color coding. Obviously. And please excuse the Engrish in chapter 1's notes. I got a little ADD in the middle of two sentences.

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**Chapter 2: The Middle**

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According to Abe, Mihashi had two modes.

The first was Code Green. This meant everything was normal. Though nervous and excitable as always, Mihashi reacted in rather predictable ways. Usually, if he was too distressed, Abe could hold his hand or force-feed him one of Shinooka's onigiri and he would calm down.

The second was Code Red. This meant everything you thought you could predict about Mihashi could be thrown out the window. He would be either quieter or louder than usual. His hand would be icy cold. And he wouldn't look you in the eye. He seemed to revert to pre-Nishiura Mihashi. It meant something was wrong, and Abe would have to drag it out of him by asking questions and attempting to interpret whispers and sobs for answers. Of the team members, only Tajima was able to understand Code Red Mihashi.

It was a Code Red day.

Abe showed up early to practice and was idly brushing the dirt off some baseballs when he heard Sakaeguchi's voice over the hedge that separated the field from the path.

"What's wrong?"

No answer. Or at least nothing he could hear.

"The last practice—it wasn't bad, was it?"

Nothing.

Abe would have bet his lunch (and probably his soul) that the one-way conversation was happening with Mihashi. Before he could even get irritated, the thought of thin arms and bright hair and hollow, unmoving lips appeared in his mind. It had been a week since his mistake of daydreaming and his subsequent real dream, but sometimes things still floated into his consciousness like pieces of a wrecked ship surfacing.

"Did Abe say something mean?"

The cry of "No!" came so quickly that Abe didn't bother wondering what Sakaeguchi meant by the question.

And then they came into view. Sakaeguchi had a concerned look on his face, and he was bending over slightly to see Mihashi's expression. The pitcher's face was hidden by the tilt of his head.

Sakaeguchi straightened. He caught Abe's eye and waved. "Hey, Abe!"

Mihashi's head shot up. Abe caught a brief, terrified, teary look on his face before he shot off towards the clubhouse.

He sighed to himself. Yes, Code Red.

That day in meditation, Tajima sat on Mihashi's left and Suyama sat to his right. Abe wanted to take his hand and try to force a temperature regulation. Instead, he concentrated on pushing the cold out of Hanai's hand and sapping the warmth from Mizutani's.

After a few group exercises, Momokan sent the battery off to work together for a few minutes. "Your curveball is weak," were the words she used. "And you need to work on your speed."

So Abe crouched in front of Mihashi, watching the way he held the ball. Abe slid into easy calculations of finger positions and spin. Beyond his legs, Hanai hit something that would have been a home run if the ball had connected two inches higher. Oki was shouting something from the pitcher's mound.

Mihashi fondled the ball, clearly considering some of the pointers Momokan had given him earlier.

"Just throw it," Abe growled.

The ball that hit his glove was worse than weak. It was plain bad. This was unacceptable. He stood up.

Mihashi cringed.

_Déjà vu._ Abe rubbed his forehead. But this time, he had no idea about what was bothering Mihashi. Nothing unusual had happened lately. Except that dream. And that was _his_, not Mihashi's. Plus, he had almost completely forgotten it (or so said the lies he spun for himself).

He studied Mihashi for a minute. The pitcher was gripping his shirt in both hands. This wasn't going to go anywhere unless he had help. As much as he disliked admitting it, Tajima had a closer understanding of Mihashi than he did. It would be better to just practice for now and obliquely approach their star batter later.

"Mihashi," Abe said slowly, "just forget whatever it is that's bothering you and pitch, okay?"

It didn't work.

The pitches got better for a while. Mihashi was feeling the curve, though his speed had slowed. Abe frowned in concentration as he thought of what they could do if Mihashi had both speed and accuracy. Then, as ball after ball thumped into his glove, the pitches got steadily worse. Accompanying that, Mihashi's face became set into an expression of permanent unhappiness. He could have sucked up sunshine with that worried look.

By the time Momokan called them back for more group practice, Abe felt like he was going to explode from frustration.

It wasn't until lunch that day that he was able to get a hold of Tajima alone. He stood in the doorway of their classroom and called for him. Tajima, who had his head on his desk (probably drooling), popped up and gave him a skeptical look before leaving the classroom.

"What do you need?" Tajima's face was considerably less amused than usual. In fact, his expression was remarkably neutral. And for Tajima, that was kind of creepy.

"I need to talk to you," Abe said, glancing inside the room again. Mihashi was talking with Hamada. Or rather, Hamada was talking to Mihashi, who was looking over his shoulder to see where Tajima had gone. "Alone," Abe clarified.

Tajima shrugged and walked a few feet down the hall so they were out of sight of the classroom. He put his back to the wall and leaned on it. Abe stood in front of him, not sure what stance to take. In the end, he just put his hands on his hips. Other students walked by, chatting or arguing amiably.

"What's wrong with Mihashi?"

Tajima's face took on a calculating look. "You noticed, huh?"

"Of course I noticed." Abe's frown hurt. "I'm his catcher."

Tajima nodded thoughtfully. Then he said, "It's probably better if Mihashi told you himself."

"Mihashi isn't _going_ to tell me," Abe said, and they both knew it was true. Nothing like stating the obvious. "I wouldn't be able to understand him even if he did." This was said with reluctance and irritation. "You're the only one of us who really knows him."

An almost satisfied grin crept over Tajima's face. He slipped back into his usual expression and patted Abe on the shoulder. "Okay, okay. So you decided to come to me for advice, hm?" Tajima _liked_ being needed.

"I guess," Abe admitted.

Tajima's face shifted fluidly into an intense stare. It wasn't the kind that he had when playing baseball, but the kind that looked like he was trying to read someone's thoughts. "Mihashi said you've been acting weird this past week. And that it's mostly around him."

"I have not!" Abe protested automatically. But as soon as the words slipped out of his mouth, he knew they weren't true. He _had_ been acting differently. He found himself avoiding Mihashi when interaction wasn't required. He'd neglected to signal correctly at least twice this week. But it wasn't his fault. Sometimes he just slipped and the faint nostalgia of the dream washed over him. Looking at Mihashi made him dizzy sometimes. So he just didn't do it. Interactions were kept minimal.

Apparently Mihashi had noticed. As usual, he had reacted in an incomprehensible way. "Okay, maybe," Abe said after a moment.

The corners of Tajima's mouth tilted down. "Whatever's wrong, fix it with him. Or fix it with you." His brows arched. "It's not just the way you act together. It's the team's problem. It'll mess up our game." Someone pushed past Abe. "And I'm not going to be caught between you two. I'm not going to be the guy in the middle."

Abe nodded, suddenly ashamed. He was letting love—or the pursuit of non-love—to interfere with baseball. To interfere with Mihashi. With their battery. He hated that Tajima had to tell him that. "Thanks. I'll… talk to him or something." He felt defeated. Guilty. Hypocritical.

As Tajima waltzed back into the classroom, laughing cheerfully, Abe turned to head towards his own room.

He'd done a bad job of ending it before. That dream, those thoughts—they had tangled him in something vast and deep. He didn't know what he wanted. Except that whatever it was, he didn't want it end on this unfinished feeling.

He thought of Mihashi sitting in that classroom, listening to Hamada and looking at Tajima. Or had it been Tajima he was watching?

Abe was lost without a map somewhere in the middle of unknown territory.


	3. The Beginning

Notes: Sorry I'm such a raging bitch, apparently. I forgot to post this. Have had this part since I started posting here... but my subconscious appears to hate doing nice things. So, here it is like a year late or so.

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Chapter Three: The Beginning

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Abe knew how it was going to go.

First, he would say he was sorry. Mihashi would act like he had no idea what the apology was for. Abe would get frustrated, but he would explain that he hadn't meant to avoid the pitcher. He would say something sappy and determined about being a better catcher. Mihashi might tear up a little if he had really been distressed, or he would just stand there with his eyes on his shoes. Either way, he would blurt out an apology for being overly sensitive. Or for something else. Mihashi always found something about himself to criticize.

Then Abe would get frustrated again. He would grit his teeth so as not to cause another fight. He would bow in an effort to control his temper.

And finally—as finally as the last home run of Koushien—he would look at Mihashi and there would be _that smile._

The first time Abe had really apologized, Mihashi had smiled. Ever since then, even a simple 'sorry' Mihashi's smile would reappear. It was weird, innocent, and cute all at once. That smile made Abe forget all his anger. It was impossible to be angry when he looked at you like that. That first time, even Shun had noticed it.

Honestly, the apologizing, the frustration—all that was fine. It was the smile that was going to screw everything up. Because Abe wasn't sure it wouldn't dredge up thoughts of Haruna's bare fingers touching Mihashi's. Calloused pitchers' fingers sliding along each other could be overwhelming if you weren't careful.

Momokan had them batting and running all that afternoon. That meant less time spent trying to talk to Mihashi about baseball when his mind was flushed with Code Red nervousness. This was fine with Abe. He wanted to put off the apology until the last moment.

And if that smile messed him up, he wanted no one there to see it.

The night fell on them suddenly. The team had been concentrating on balls and bats, bases and mounds for so long that the dark was almost a surprise. As they left the field, their sweaters were light against the dark grass. Yellow street lights shone on hair briefly before the team walked out towards the bike lot. Suyama was holding both arms up in the air, explaining something to an attentive Mizutani. Nishihiro was leaning against Izumi. In the dugout, Shinooka was visible in the single light, and her face looked strangely old. She was holding the tray that she had used for onigiri and looking at Momokan who was explaining something to her.

It was cold now. Winter was coming. You could smell it sometimes—sharp and smoky. It might have to do with everyone turning on their heaters, but it could just as easily be the perfume the season wore.

Abe shrugged off a shiver.

"Cold?" Hanai was stretching his arms behind his neck.

"Yeah."

"Me, too." The captain adjusted his stocking cap. He coughed once before saying, "Hey, look, if you're going to talk to Mihashi, do it tonight."

Abe felt a flush run up his cheeks. "Why does everyone know more about our battery than I do?" His voice was low, but the tone was embarrassed rather than irritated.

"Oh…" To Abe's satisfaction, Hanai sounded as uncomfortable as he was. "Uh, well, Tajima told me you were having problems."

"Great." Abe reached up and scratched behind an ear. "Yeah, I know. I was just going to wait until we got to the bikes and everyone headed out. I didn't want to do it in front of the team."

Hanai cleared his throat in embarrassment. "Yeah, okay. Sorry."

They walked in silence, watching as Tajima split off from the group with a cheerful wave and a few hand slaps. The rest of them talked loudly in the dark with the exception of Mihashi who seemed to huddle into himself.

"Is it that obvious?" Abe said after a while. At Hanai's puzzled expression he amended, "Is it that obvious that something's wrong?'

The team's captain nodded. "It's like… well, if the rest of your body is healthy and then you stub your toe—you notice that."

Abe snorted. "We're toes, huh." He grinned a little, and a streetlight caught the curve of his cheek. "What does that make you, a head?"

Hanai laughed. "And Nishihiro and Oki are the arms."

"Suyama and Sakaeguchi are the legs."

"Mizutani is the stomach."

"Izumi is the lungs."

"Tajima is the di-" Hanai stopped suddenly. Abe could almost _feel_ his blush. "Uh, the heart," he said quickly.

Abe let this pass, as they had reached the lot where their bikes stood like lonely cattle in a field too large for them. Pools of yellow from the streetlights illuminated their fragile frames. His stomach clenched up. This was stupid. As long as they stood in the dark outside the light, maybe that smile wouldn't do anything. If he couldn't see it, he couldn't feel its impact. "Mihashi!" he called. Hanai shot him a sympathetic look.

Mihashi froze.

Abe sighed. "We have to talk," he said and he put his hand on Mihashi's shoulder. Hanai gave them both a wave as he circled around them to find his bike. He thought of Mihashi's arms in his dream—how it had been summer in his mind. With the sweater over his shirt, Abe felt like his pitcher didn't even exist under his fingers. There was something solid under the weave, but it didn't feel right.

The pitcher looked like he wanted to pass out or run away.

Abe hated Code Red.

The good night calls of their teammates sounded around them. Abe waved distractedly as they left. Mihashi looked over his shoulder as if he hoped someone would stay with them. The bike lot was empty except for them as the rest of the team wheeled out towards the road. Most of the students and teachers who rode bikes had left earlier that day. It almost felt colder thinking they were alone.

"Mihashi, I'm sorry." Abe felt his neck grow hot. "I'm sorry," he repeated. "It's my fault that I haven't been a good—that we haven't worked well together lately. I've been distracted, and I've ignored you."

Mihashi's eyes widened. "A-A-Abe-kun, I didn't me-"

"No, you're not going to apologize!" Abe said forcefully. "It's not your fault. You didn't do anything wrong!"

"B-but I could have just… ignored… it…." Mihashi cringed a little. But, remarkably, he actually looked straight at Abe instead of over his shoulder, down at the floor, away to the left. "I'm sorry… too."

"It was my fault. I shouldn't have …uh… gotten distracted." Abe put his hands in his pockets. They felt awkward. Like he should have a catchers' mitt, or still rest one hand on Mihashi's shoulder. He wasn't angry. This was weird. He was usually angry at Mihashi for shouldering a burden that wasn't his by this point. But he wasn't. He dropped a short bow. "I'll do better, I promise."

"M-me, too!"

When Abe straightened, Mihashi was smiling.

It didn't happen often. Not even now. It was like looking straight at the sun and getting blinded by how white, how hot, how far and how near it is all at the same time. It was the kind of smile that should have made you see blue spots when you looked away.

Abe felt hot in the radiance of this sun. Hot hot hot… He felt stupid. He had no words for this. Maybe this was Mihashi Code Gold.

"Abe-kun?" Mihashi was looking at him and that smile had almost disappeared into a sunset of the mouth.

Stupidity trickled from Abe's brain into his body. He reached out and drew Mihashi into a hug. His sweater felt softer now—as if it had undergone a change since the last time he had touched it. There was hot breath on his shoulder. A small gasp came from his pitcher, but just as soon, Mihashi was quiet.

It felt different from his dream. Not just because of the incoming winter. Not just because he was touching sweater instead of skin. It was different because here, Abe felt dumb. He felt self-conscious and uncertain. Abe hated himself for it. But he'd needed this. He had needed to hold onto that smile.

Then Mihashi moved.

Abe was barely aware of it at first. He almost started when he noticed Mihashi's hands on his sweater, clutching the cloth. There was a pull of fabric, and he could feel Mihashi's hands _all over_ even though they never really moved.

"Abe-kun?" was breathed into his shoulder.

Parts of Abe woke, hungry. He was dizzy. He clung to Mihashi's back.

And then there was something, the softest movement he'd ever felt, as Mihashi pressed ever so slightly nearer to him.

Abe thought he was going to die.

He heard someone talking and found it was himself saying, "I'm sorry," over and over. To shut himself up, to shut up his desires, he leaned to the side and buried his face in Mihashi's hair. It smelled like the shampoo the team shared in the locker room.

Then Abe had to perform a complicated duck and catch to kiss Mihashi's forehead.

When Mihashi turned his face in surprise, Abe kissed his mouth, too.

It was nothing like the dream.

Mihashi's lips were slightly chapped. They were cold. They were firm. But more importantly, they were real.

It was a short kiss, mostly because Abe had never kissed anyone before. And partly because even though no one was there, this was outside and he was going to get hard if he didn't stop. And just a tiny bit because this was Mihashi. As much as Abe had wanted this, he didn't want it at the same time. Mihashi was infuriating and gorgeous and ridiculous and so… _stupidly amazing_.

Then he let go of his hold.

The pitcher looked dazed. In fact, he looked like Abe felt. For the first time off the field, Abe thought, their reactions were the same. For the first time, they were together. Really together.

Without a word, he stretched out a hand and took Mihashi's. It was warm. It was _warm_. His own was cold.

They looked at each other, startled.

Then there was that smile again—breaking like dawn. It started at the edges and slowly rose over all of Mihashi's face. It was in his mouth, the mouth that Abe suddenly loved. It was in his cheeks, rounded from happiness. It was in his light eyes, shining.

Abe was delirious.

"Miha-" he said, and then stopped. His face was on fire. Where his fingers met Mihashi's, his hand was on fire. His heart was on fire.

Mihashi smiled at him in the light of the streetlamps. He looked… secure. Not confident maybe, but secure.

Happy.

"Ren," Abe began.

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end.


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